


Do Angels Dream of Winged Sheep?

by Retro Lipstickcat (Lipstickcat)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipstickcat/pseuds/Retro%20Lipstickcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley helps Aziraphale try something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Angels Dream of Winged Sheep?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in 2004 - transferring it to this archive unedited. Editing may happen one day...

"So, what is it like?"

Aziraphale interrupted Crowley mid-rave. He’d been in full flow, giving his opinion on a whole host of subjects, touching briefly on the concept of Sin and using it as his launching pad to discuss, (although it was a rather one sided discussion that involved him shooting his mouth off while Aziraphale sipped his cup of tea, managing to nod and "hmmm" in a noncommittal fashion), in no particular order: The humans’ attachment to sex of various kinds and which kinds were frowned upon and/or approved of by each of their so called bosses, (one or two things fell into neither category), the role of armies in modern society, a brief history of important events over the last 5 centuries, (most of the 19th century was skipped over, due to not seeing much more than the inside of a lavatory during it), and the Sod’s law that stated he would never be able to find a parking space when he popped to the shops for milk.

"What is what like?"

"You know..." Aziraphale looked mildly embarrassed, jerking his head in the direction of the bedroom and pulling a meaningful face. That, coupled with a quick run through of the conversation so far and a little extra sensory perception, told Crowley what he was talking about.

"Ohhh... You’ve honestly never done it?" Crowley enjoyed the flush that spread over the angel’s pale cheeks. "Well, it’s hard to describe to someone who’s never experienced it. It's like," he paused, thought, paused again, opened his mouth, paused, shut it, thought some more, "it's like... It’s indescribable. Better than Ben and Jerry’s Phish food."

Aziraphale’s face lit up in pure wonder. Crowley felt a smug warmth swell in his chest. He knew his friend/enemy’s weakness so well. If he ever felt inclined to tempt him, he’d know exactly what would convince this particular angel to fall. Not that he wanted him to fall; he kinda liked him as he was.

The blond sipped his tea thoughtfully for a few moments. Somewhere a little girl who’d just spent her pocket money on a plain vanilla ice cream in the park was now discovering that this was a new kind of vanilla that was chocolate flavour and involved swirls of marshmallow, caramel and little chocolate fishies.

"Would you... Show me how?" he ducked his head down again, trying to hide his blush in his tea and failing.

Crowley almost choked.

"I don’t think I can..." he sounded slightly disturbed, "Its not something I can just show you."

"Oh," the disappointed tone in Aziraphale’s voice gave Crowley a feeling he didn’t like. Guilt. He didn’t like it, he wasn’t accustomed to it and he definitely didn’t want to get used to it. He wondered briefly if there was a good reason why Aziraphale hadn’t tried it before. Was it against the rules for angels to indulge in such things? Would he be punished if he did? Worry. Another feeling he didn’t like. But then, if a little indulgence was forbidden, by default, Ben and Jerry’s ice cream would have been the scourge of angels and the weapon of choice for demons.

"Well," Crowley could hear his voice talking of its own accord, "ok then."

"When?" the angel had perked up instantly and Crowley wondered if he’d just been played, then decided that Aziraphale was far too goody-two-shoes to do that. Even to a demon.

"Now?" Aziraphale stood up and started to head towards the bedroom. Crowley sighed.

"Put your drink down first."

He followed the angel into the bedroom, the room falling dark as he walked in; the curtains sliding shut on their rails with a ‘swish’. Aziraphale glanced at the bed, as perfectly made as a hospital cot, and turned to look at Crowley questioningly.

"I’d expected to see sheets and clothes scattered everywhere."

Crowley shrugged. "I’m a demon, not a teenager," he mentally congratulated himself for the quick cleanup job he’d conjured up seconds before his counterpart had walked into the room.

Aziraphale continued to watch him, patiently waiting for instructions. A dull, watery light soaked through the curtains into the room, casting not quite shadows. A hazy light shone through stray wisps of Aziraphale’s hair and Crowley could have laughed as the phrase "like a halo" popped into his mind. He shook himself. Let's get this over with. He took in the angel’s smart suit.

"You should slip into something more comfortable."

"Like what?"

He could hardly say, "What do you normally sleep in?"

"Something less stuffy: Pyjamas, a nightshirt, boxers... nude."

He took a step forward, his clothes seeming to melt from him and dissolve into thin air. He preferred to sleep naked, but as a last minute thought, just as his trousers began to disintegrate from his hips, he materialised a pair of blood red boxer shorts. He didn’t think he could stand the heat that the angel would produce from seeing him naked. It would remind him of Hell more than he cared to be reminded of. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.

Aziraphale still flushed mildly, his eyes flicking over the length of Crowley’s body before glancing down at his own clothes. With a thought, his suit shifted and became a set of duck egg blue silk pyjamas, with tiny paisley detail. He studied a sleeve, pulled a face and changed the paisley into teddy bears. Crowley was torn between which pattern was a greater offence to his eyes.

He gestured to the bed. "Lie down then."

The blond did as he was told, lying stiffly on his back. Crowley smirked to himself and couldn’t resist the urge to make the angel a little uncomfortable. Aziraphale felt the edge of the bed sink as Crowley braced his knee on it, he craned his neck only to find the demon straddling him. The angel’s eyes went wide, his mouth gaped open. Crowley grinned at him, bit back the crude comment his mind was muttering and continued to move to the other side of the bed.

"W-what now?" Aziraphale gasped.

"Shut your eyes and go to sleep," Crowley replied as he pulled his pillow out from beneath himself and propped it up against the headboard.

He had no desire to sleep now, so he picked up the book he kept on the nightstand, mostly because he thought it made him look intelligent, and opened it at the book-marked page. The cover was Stephen King’s "It". Clowns were most certainly one of Their creations and it would reflect well on him if one of the Dukes of Hell turned up unexpectedly and found him doing further research on where They could take the development of these evil creatures next. The cover was Stephen King’s "It" The book inside the cover was Louisa May Alcott’s "Little Women" Not that he’d admit that to anyone, not even himself. So far, he’d successfully managed to convince half his brain that he really was reading about demon clowns, even though he couldn’t remember any of the plot, (besides the few clips and adverts he’d seen of the film version on TV), while the other half knew that he was really reading classic period literature. Once, he’d found himself crying from one eye and he only half understood why.

"I can’t sleep."

"You won’t if you keep talking," Crowley turned the page of his book.

"I’m just lying here with my eyes closed."

"You’re probably thinking too much," the demon slipped his bookmark between the pages and put the book back on the side. "Count sheep or kittens or puppies. Pick your vomit inducing fluffy poison. And don’t lie like you’re in a coffin, get yourself comfortable."

The mattress shifted on the bed-frame as Aziraphale shuffled and wriggled his body. He opened his eyes as he began to turn over and paused, glaring accusingly at Crowley.

"What?"

"You’re not trying to sleep."

"No. You’re the one who wanted to try it, remember? I don’t feel like sleeping right now," he crossed his arms indignantly.

Aziraphale pouted. "But if I’m asleep here, all helpless and unaware, how can I know I can trust you?"

Several answers ran through Crowley’s head. He shrugged and picked the truest.

"You can’t. But you must trust me to ask me in the first place. Surely you’re a good judge of character?"

The angel pulled a face. He was. Only, his judgement of Crowley kept contradicting itself. There was more to the demon than just demon, he was a fallen angel, but still an angel, and as Crowley kept telling him; less fallen, more slipped. His long life would have been a lot more black and white without Crowley in it.

With a put upon sigh, Crowley removed his pillow from behind him, put it back in its place and lay down beside Aziraphale. The blond fidgeted some more, creasing up the sheets and nestling into them. He smiled warmly at his opposite, pale blue eyes meeting snake yellow ones, trust shining in them and betraying the words he’d just spoken. Then he let them fall shut expectantly.

Soft piano music began to fill the room as the CD player in the living room began to play a CD that hadn’t been in it moments before. There were no speakers in the bedroom, or anywhere in the flat, but it didn’t really matter as the music playing had not yet been written. It was a soft, lulling noise, complicated but simplistic in sound. It floated around the room and seeped into the two being’s minds unobtrusively.

Aziraphale’s lips moved minimally as he counted lambs gambolling in a lush green field and bounding over a crystalline spring stream. It gradually became harder to hold onto the image, the scene becoming fog tinted and he didn’t resist it as his mind seemed to float off.

The demon watched as Aziraphale’s features slackened, his whole body relaxing. He’d never noticed quite how rigid the angel had been before. His mouth parted softly, his face turned slightly into the pillow. Crowley was close enough to be able to see the tiny lines engraved into the delicate pink lips. The light from the window fell over the being’s body, giving it a golden tint, the ridges of cheekbone and neck highlighted, his eye sockets and the V of his neck in grey shadow. The collar of his nightshirt gaped open, showing a little length of collarbone and chest.

A gentle rumble left the angel’s throat, more fragile than a purr. A smile turned up the corners of Crowley’s mouth; breathing had become habit to blend into the world and it seemed it made angels snore!

Eyeballs roved beneath the membrane fine layer of eyelid, making golden eyelashes flicker. What did angels dream about? Dreams were how a person made sense of the events of the day. Six thousand years of existence would make for some rather crowded thirty minute REM sessions. He would ask Aziraphale about his dreams when he woke up.

For now, he grabbed a woollen blanket from the end of the bed, where it had not been earlier, and pulled it over the both of them. Maybe he would sleep for a little while. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if Hastur picked that moment to pay a visit on him and found him in bed with an angel. Perhaps they would assume that he had tempted the creature and caused its fall. Perhaps Aziraphale would fall for this. He hoped not, it seemed unlikely, but he’d barely even noticed his own fall until it was too late. But who said anyone would have to fall? Perhaps the opposite would happen; this could be his saving grace and he would no longer be fallen.

Most probably, nothing would come of this at all.

It didn’t matter. He was comfortable, his thoughts were getting heavy and he was in bed with a warm body. Someone on this lonely planet, and the places above and below, that he actually cared about.

He cried from one eye as he fell asleep.


End file.
